


make a dragon wanna retire

by countthestars



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Camboy Niall, M/M, Mutual Pining, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 04:13:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3677001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/countthestars/pseuds/countthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam's entire life flashes in front of his eyes at 10:47 on a Tuesday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	make a dragon wanna retire

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [make a dragon wanna retire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7368757) by [Beso](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beso/pseuds/Beso)



> this is pretty much pwp, and entirely jamie's fault. title from 'uptown funk' by mark ronson/bruno mars.
> 
> Russian translation available [here](https://ficbook.net/readfic/3362091), thanks to the lovely [Beso](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Beso/pseuds/Beso)!

Liam's entire life flashes in front of his eyes at 10:47 on a Tuesday.

It's been slow all night; only a few customers stopping in to buy a pack of cigarettes or a bag of crisps, the occasional uni kid with tired eyes clunking a sweating energy drink onto the counter with the kind of hopeful desperation usually saved for the front pew on Sunday. Liam rings them all up with his usual cheer, because he's always had a firm belief in good costumer service, but it's nearly ten minutes 'til close and he's had a long day on his feet.

He barely notices the electronic hum of the automatic door, or the sound of scuffling feet wandering up and down the aisles. His eyes are on the clock, the second hand ticking around with agonizing slowness, when someone coughs, shoving a few odds and ends onto the counter near the register.

Liam looks up, and that's when the flashbacks start. The boy standing in front of him has a white, toothy smile that stretches his lips wide, crinkles the skin around his eyes. There's a snapback perched backwards on his head, bleached blonde hair poking out beneath the brim, and he looks like any other uni student that frequents the cornerstore only a few blocks from campus.

Except for the part where Liam's seen that mouth open in a pant, lips bitten red and half lidded eyes staring directly into the camera as he curls his toes, tossing himself off. Liam's bitten his own lip against a moan, fingers wrapped around his prick as he's watched the boy fall apart on camera, sweaty and flushed and perfect.

“All right, mate? Ya look like you've seen a ghost.” The boy laughs at his own joke, already slipping his hand into his pocket to pull out his wallet, and Liam's forgotten how to make his fingers move. It's just, like. He's never had to ring someone up before, when he knows the shape of their dick, the sound they make when they come. Oh, god. That _sound_.

With a herculean effort, Liam pulls himself together, and only fumbles twice with the scanner, bagging the boy's items – candy, mostly, and a pack of batteries Liam doesn't think too hard about – before clearing his throat a few times and informing the boy of his total. He says all the numbers right, doesn't even mention the thing about knowing what his dick looks like. Small victories.

The boy pays with a card, and it would take a stronger man than Liam not to glance at the name as he swipes it. _Niall Horan_. Sounds Irish, which fits, with the whole, like, accent thing the boy's got going on. Better than his username, at any rate, which is the truly unfortunate choice of _da_pimp_is_ere_.

“Have a nice night,” Liam manages after another throat-clearing cough, handing Niall his bag. He offers a smile in thanks, and Liam probably imagines the way his eyes dip down to rest briefly on Liam's mouth.

“Yeah, you too, mate. Feel better!”

“I – thanks?”

Niall glances back, already on his way out the door. “Oh, I meant 'cause of – you keep coughing? Hope you aren't getting sick or nothing. It's been going 'round.” He flashes a brilliant grin, and Liam's knees go weak. Well. Not his knees, as such. And weak is maybe the wrong word. Something like dangerously tenting the front of his trousers might be a shade more accurate.

“I'm fine,” Liam lies. _I've never come harder than the time I watched you fuck yourself on a dildo_ he carefully doesn't add. He can feel a blush creeping it's way up his neck. Oh, god. What if Niall can tell? What if he _knows_ that Liam's watched his videos? What if--

Shrugging, Niall calls over his shoulder, “Glad to hear it. See ya around, mate!” and steps out into the night, leaving Liam alone with his spiraling thoughts and half-chubbed dick.

He's got things more under control a half an hour later, after he's finished locking up for the night and a brisk walk home has cooled his heated cheeks. By the time he's shoving his key in the lock to let himself in, Liam's almost managed to convince himself the entire thing was some sort of fever dream, brought on by too much stress and too little sleep. It's been a rough semester.

Still, he reasons, a nice wank before bed can't, like, hurt anything.

Kicking off his trousers and pulling his shirt over his head, Liam settles onto his mattress wearing only his pants, grabbing for his laptop. Impatient, he taps his fingers against his thigh while it boots up, flicking a glance towards the clock on his nightstand. Niall doesn't do a show every night, but he keeps a pretty consistent time the nights he is on. Liam's right on time.

Niall, unfortunately, isn't. Liam waits five minutes, then ten, and he's about to give up and wank to normal porn like someone who isn't a complete sex creep when the video starts buffering. A few seconds later, Niall's smiling face fills the screen. His arm slices across the camera lens as he adjusts the angle, and then he's sitting back on the bed, sheets rumpled behind him.

Liam swallows with an audible gulp. Somehow Niall's managed to lose his shirt, his pale chest on display, but his hair is still partially hidden beneath the same snapback he'd had on before, when Liam saw him in person. The proof is right there that Liam's favorite cam boy shops at Liam's store. It's like a dirty little secret, something private and illicit that only Liam knows.

He's embarrassingly close to coming, and Niall hasn't even started yet.

“Sorry I'm runnin' late,” Niall says, voice pitched a little lower than his normal speaking tone. Liam hadn't realized, too starstruck at the time, that there was a difference between how Niall speaks when he's on camera and in real life. He feels a bit dizzy.

“Was at the store,” Niall continues in an almost lazy drawl. His fingers trace an equally lazy pattern across his skin, following the trail of hair leading up to his navel, sliding up further until he can rub over his nipple before trailing back down. Liam's torn between watching the way his fingertips dip lower and lower each circuit, and the pink curve of his lips as he talks. “And I swear 't ya, the checkout boy had the most fuckable mouth 've ever seen. Lips made for suckin' cock, christ.”

For a long moment, Liam doesn't hear anything beyond a rush of white noise. He misses whatever Niall says next, tuning back in to catch “--terrible gag reflex meself, sorry, is that --” a pause while he laughs, a low, husky sound, “--I've ruined the fantasy now, haven't I? Prob'ly best 't shut up and get 't it.”

It's not unusual for Niall to start with a little story during his cam shows, really working the boy next door thing he's got going on. Liam can almost pretend it's a private Skype call, especially if he minimizes the chatlog next to Niall's video. Tonight that particular fantasy is a little closer in reach.

Hitching up his hips, Niall shoves his pants and trousers down in one go, hard cock springing free to slap wetly against his stomach. There's already a flush blooming across his chest, matching the red in his cheeks. He always blushes so prettily, his pale skin like a blank canvas. It makes Liam want to ruin him, mark him up with imprints of his teeth, bruises that fit the shape of Liam's fingers.

Niall stares up at the camera through the golden fan of his lashes, palming over himself with a small groan. His lower lip is red and bruised looking already, shiny and wet, like he's been biting it. Fingers curled loosely around his cock, he wanks himself slowly, a teasing, dragging rhythm.

Liam's eyes track the movement of Niall's hand, mouth watering at the thought of tasting his skin, feeling the heavy weight of Niall's cock against his tongue. It wouldn't be hard, to pin Niall's skinny hips to his mattress, swallow him down until the head nudged at the back of Liam's throat. Be even easier, to clasp his hands behind his back, let Niall fuck his mouth roughly, use Liam how he wanted.

He squeezes around the base of his cock, eyes slipping shut for a moment while he collects himself. The only sound in the room is Liam's ragged breathing and the slick, slow slide of Niall's hand on his cock, clear even through Liam's shitty laptop speakers.

Biting off another groan, Niall's rhythm starts to speed up, one hand fisting in his sheets. Liam stares hard at the way Niall's knuckles have gone white, he's gripping so hard, and imagines how it'd feel to have those fingers card gently through his hair, or pull hard enough to make his eyes water.

“Fu-uck,” Niall grits out. Liam wonders if Niall had been thinking the same thing. Realizes in another dizzying rush that he could have been. Could be fucking his own fist, thinking about using Liam's mouth, getting himself off at the thought.

Liam didn't notice when it happened, but Niall's snapback has fallen off, sweat pricking across his temple and plastering a few blonde strands along his hairline. He sounds close, breathy little pants escaping past his lips, and Liam watches the way his eyes squeeze shut as he slows his hand. His other hand disappears off camera, reaching for something, and reappears a second later with a half-filled bottle of lube. With a wet squelch, Niall squirts some into his palm, but instead of wrapping his fingers back around his cock, he lets them dance down lower, trailing further between his legs.

He hitches one leg up on the bed, spreading himself, and Liam's eyes fix on the movement of Niall's fingers sliding between his cheeks.

“Was thinkin',” Niall pants, picking up a thread of conversation Liam's long since lost. “Was thinkin' 'bout what else that boy could do, with a mouth like that. How nice it'd feel if he ate me out. How--” a small sigh as Niall's fingers finally circle his hole, slick with lube “--how rough his beard'd feel, how good--”

He loses his words after that, one finger slipping inside. It's not the first time, not even the tenth, that Liam's watched Niall finger himself. It is the first time he's talked about how much he wants Liam's mouth on him while he's done it, though.

Niall makes these needy little noises as he pumps one finger, then a second, in and out. He keeps one leg hitched up, pressed to his chest, the other sprawled wide, completely on display. His hips start to jerk like he can't help himself, fucking down on his fingers, the slick, wet noises of it even more obscene than when he'd been wanking.

Liam matches his rhythm, breath escaping in harsh pants, his chest heaving. Feels like he's been riding the edge for ages, since he first looked up to see Niall's bright blue eyes staring back at him, a fantasy come to life. He remembers with a jolt that it could be the same for Niall, that he could have been thinking about Liam’s mouth his entire trip home, of what Liam could do to him, of what Liam would _let_ Niall do to him.

With a low groan, Liam spills over his fist, coming hard enough that his vision whites out for a second. He blinks back to reality in time to see Niall’s mouth open in a near silent moan as he shoots off, come splattering over his flushed chest, fingers still buried in his arse. He looks wrecked, skin glistening with sweat and eyes glazed over when he manages to crack them open again, glittering blue slits beneath his lashes.

Smiling crookedly, he pulls his fingers free, lets his leg fall back onto the mattress. There’s still come coating his chest that Liam wouldn’t mind licking away, in some of his filthier fantasies. Niall doesn’t bother trying to clean up, even though that’s a show Liam would definitely pay to see. Instead he reaches for the camera, fingers clearly fumbling for the button to end the feed.

Liam can feel his heart slamming loudly in his chest, a nervous sort of anticipation dancing beneath his skin. It feels like the show tonight was just for him, and he’s being crushed under the weight of reality that it’s not. He hasn’t got Niall all to himself, has to share him with whoever’s willing to pay. The knowledge stings more than it usually does.

“Don’t know if ‘ve ever come so hard from me own fingers,” Niall confesses in a low voice, his face close enough to the camera that it fills Liam’s screen. “Might have ‘t go visit that checkout boy again. What do ya think? Could be my sex muse.” He laughs again, sounding a bit hoarse.  

The video goes black, and Liam sits back slowly.

He works tomorrow night. If Niall really does come in, Liam might just ask him for his number.

 


End file.
